


my lover is a lighthouse

by ree_sayles



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: (it's Old Hamlet), (not really but it could be read that way), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canonical Character Death, Crying, Death, Hamlet is Big Sad, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ree_sayles/pseuds/ree_sayles
Summary: based on the poem"Lost at sea,he guides me home.My loveris a lighthouse.”A modern Hamlet feels his feelings after Old Hamlet dies. Horatio comforts him.
Relationships: Hamlet & Horatio, Hamlet/Horatio (Hamlet)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	my lover is a lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write something angsty based on this poem. hope you enjoy :)
> 
> tw: Hamlet sits on the edge of a tall rooftop after receiving devastating news. he isn't outright contemplating suicide but it could be interpreted that he is.

Life looked different from up above. It looked smaller. Down in the fray, everything seemed important, urgent. From above (thirty five stories above, to be specific), nothing really seemed to matter.

Hamlet sat on the rooftop of his apartment complex often. When he needed to calm down, to remember that life wouldn’t come crashing down around him, he climbed the stairs that led to the roof, walked across the gravelly rooftop, and sat on the edge of the building, his legs dangling off the sides. 

Hamlet found that it was comforting to surround himself with buildings rather than people. Buildings were unassuming. Buildings didn’t expect anything from you. When things got rough, you could sit on top of a tall building, feel the cold air on your face and in your lungs, listen to life without partaking in it, and let the tightness in your chest recede a little.

Or at least, that’s what usually happened. 

Today was different, though.

Today, Hamlet had gotten off work to three missed calls from his mother. He called her back on the subway ride home. And that’s when she told him. 

His father had passed away at some point last night.

His father, his hero, the man he strived to take after, was dead.

Hamlet was still in shock. In fact, he didn’t quite remember getting off the subway. He didn’t remember walking home, or climbing the stairs, or sitting down on the edge of the roof. 

It made sense that he was here, though. Where else would he go? Where do you go when the one person in the world who has always been there for you, always looked after you, since the very beginning, is gone?

Perhaps, to the edge of the world. Or as close to it as you can find. Perhaps, you should go to wherever you can find a vantage point, a place where you can look down on life, where you can see the darkening skyline. Perhaps, if you look hard enough, you can find the person you lost, moving between worlds. Perhaps, you can say goodbye. 

He never got to say goodbye. 

And just then, like a dam breaking in his chest, everything came flooding out. The anger, the sadness, the guilt. Nothing felt right anymore. The whole world felt like a shirt made from the wrong material, itchy and uncomfortable, not allowing you to focus until you removed it. 

But how? How could he stop the feelings breaking free from his chest? How could he stop the thoughts worming their way into his brain, telling him he should have called him more, should have shown more gratitude, should have been a better son? 

Suddenly, there was someone next to Hamlet, sitting on the ledge beside him, swinging his own legs over the edge. 

Horatio.

Hamlet hadn’t heard him approach. He must have been too caught up in his own feelings. But now he was here.

The wrongs of the world felt just a bit more bearable with Horatio at his side, putting his arm around Hamlet’s shoulder and pulling him in close.

Horatio didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. That was part of his beauty. Horatio understood the value of silence. Horatio understood.

And so Hamlet laid his head on Horatio’s shoulder and cried.


End file.
